This fragility of being is solely mine…
hand tossed.
Much like a mistakenly crisp late spring, piney waft.
On which, so much feeds.
…
Or, purposely perpetuated wants…overcoming needs.
…
I can set my sights on a higher power…
that seems often higher and higher.
And, soon out of my reach.
…
Conversely, I can assume the best of intentions from quiet savagery…
the artful being that grows above and below the seed.
